


The Prince Who Would Not Be King

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22401721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	The Prince Who Would Not Be King

**Author's Note:**

> 18 January 2020  
> As expected, I had a snooze this afternoon (classic insomnia balancing).  
> What I did not expect was to wake up with a fully formed Tracy medieval AU in my head.  
> Sure, it wouldn’t be the first such AU featuring our beloved boys, but I am so tempted to write this one scene pretty much fully formed in my head.  
> I don’t need any more WiPs! Omigod, so much bloody inspiration, for crying out loud!  
> Aaaaargh!  
> Nutty  
> (Who honestly really isn’t into medieval Tracy, but there are wizards and maybe a dragon in this and it is so tempting, damnit!)
> 
> A few hours later…  
> Okay, I cracked and wrote the scene. It is an approximation of what appeared in my brain upon awakening. It is weird as this is the first time I have ever removed a set of characters completely out of their world and slapped them into another.  
> It is just a scene and I don’t know if I will develop it any further as I reeeeallly shouldn’t as I have far too many WiPs anyway and I neeeeed to finish something for a change. Things are a little out of control.   
> But I hope you enjoy the glimpse my brain offered this afternoon.  
> Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and thanks to @its-lovelyhappycollection @faerie-dancer and @fictivekaleidoscope for the egging on :D  
> I have given this scene its own archived story space just in case I decide to take this further.

Sal was old and weary. Tired of the waiting, the dread, the not knowing if her loved ones would be returning and the doubt echoing throughout the halls of her home. Each year her body ached more with age. Each year she missed those she had lost more.

She knew her time was fading, but she could not leave. She was needed.

Her bodice was tight as she stood waiting on the dais. As always she took her place to the left of the great empty chair that stood looming in the middle. Above it, in all its majestic awe hung the gilt Thunderbird crest, its great wings flourished and defiant. Fire shone in its jewelled eyes and the crystal sword of justice clutched in its talons sparkled with the cause.

The cause that was so broken.

The bells at the gates rung furiously, followed not long after by the deep resonance of the central bell tower.

She held her breath.

At least one of her grandsons had made it home.

Her spirit was anxious to flee the room and find her grandchildren to reassure herself that they had all come home, that her family had not lost more to this holocaust, but there was more than her to consider here. There was the people, the desperate souls looking to their ruling class to save them from the menace.

So she held her position.

And waited.

It was not long, but forever, before the great doors at the end of the hall opened with a clatter and her littlest, Alan, just sixteen, burst through. He wore his state baldric, his accent as ruby as the great firebird the stars had foretold at his birth, his expression one of fury.

He had been forbidden to set out with his brothers, despite his aptitudes, and he had been angry the entire month they had been gone. Kay had attempted to reassure him, but he refused to listen. Worry for his brothers and frustration at not being accepted as a full Lance had him storming the halls late at night.

None of her words had been enough.

She prayed her grandsons had all come home whole.

“They have returned, Grand Mother.” His voice rung clear throughout the Great Hall as he strode hurriedly towards her, and the gathered nobility murmured words of relief and expectation. His stride was still growing, and she found herself so grateful for his youthful presence. He stopped at the ceremonial line and executed a perfect bow to the empty chair, before turning to her.

His startling blue eyes flashed hope and he bowed in deference to her before crossing the line and taking his place on her left.

The chancellor stood off to her left and his single clap echoed throughout the Hall. She straightened instinctively as the drums started up their entrance beat and her old heart kicked up and echoed them, their thrum powerful yet ominous.

The trumpets heralded the entrance of her eldest grandson.

For a moment, all was well and her heart lifted. Four young men entered the room, their baldrics lauding their identities, followed by the chaperone force of twenty lances. But the trumpets faltered as realisation set in.

The room fell silent as Scott limped his way down the aisle, his silver baldric stained with something dark. Sal drew in a breath, but behind him Virgil was staggering. His weight seemed almost all on young Gordon. The Warder’s robes were singed, torn and bloody, his head bowed and his green baldric barely hanging onto his body.

Gordon was wearing his armour, his yellow baldric dulled with dirt, his cape torn. It was obvious he had channeled recently, his eyes still shining red-gold. There was a story there between the two of them, between the fire and the water.

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

Their procession up the aisle was slow and the room silent in horror. Scott defied tradition several times to turn and check his brothers’ progress. An incomprehensible sound issued from Virgil and he stumbled, but Gordon caught him and they continued their silent journey to the dais.

The moment Scott reached the line, he bowed to the Great Chair, and in echo of his littlest brother moments before, he bowed to his Grand Mother and then dipped his head to Alan.

Sal’s voice was dry as the wind from the north when she spoke. “Speak.”

“Grand Mother.” Scott’s voice was commanding as always, blue eyes flickering. “The mission was a failure.”

The room erupted into loud murmuring.

“Silence.” She still had enough strength in her old body to command that at least. She turned to Scott once more. “Tell me.”

He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a groan behind him as Virgil collapsed against Gordon and the young lance was hard put to hold his older brother up.

Eos took flight, her great wings spreading with an angry squawk as she leapt into the air. John stepped in to catch the teetering Warder. Between them, Gordon and his older brother kept Virgil upright and prevented him from meeting the polished stone floor.

“Please, Grand Mother, Warder Virgil saved our party at his own expense. He held the wards to enable us to escape, but was unable to escape uninjured himself. If it wasn’t for Lance Gordon, we would have lost him.

Sal’s heart crawled into her throat.

“Please, he needs attention.”

Eos circled in a tight ring above them, her stark calls taunting. The crowd grew nervous, eyes darting up and shoulders hunching.

The situation was a poor one. Tradition dictated a full report before the nobility, but it was obvious her grandson could not comply. Virgil appeared to have lost consciousness.

“You are excused.”

The room erupted in an uproar.

“SILENCE!”

And there was, shocked and scared. She glared at her subjects, daring any of them to contradict her order. Since the loss of her son, rule had fallen to her. Scott refused to believe his father was dead. Taken from them in a ball of fire it appeared obvious that he no longer lived, but Scott refused to step up and take his place as king. So Sal stood regent.

Their rule grew more fragile by the year and she feared if Scott did not face reality soon, all would be lost.

The shock in the room was shattered by footsteps on the stone floor as a figure pushed her way through the chaperone force behind her grandsons. Kay emerged, dressed in her leathers and worry on her face. As always she ignored tradition and hurried up to the boys, her hands immediately reaching out to the Warder hanging limp between her brothers.

The crowd did not appreciate the lack of decorum.

But to be honest, Sal didn’t care. “Take Warder Virgil to the healers. We will discuss the situation at a gathering tomorrow.”

Scott dipped his head. “Yes, Grand Mother.” And the boys, along with Kay, were hustling their injured sibling out of the Hall. The chaperone force split down the middle and then followed them out.

The crowd was not happy, but a defiant squawk from Eos far above silenced them once more. Sal’s lips thinned as the great bird dipped beneath the door’s lintel to follow her grandsons from the room.

“I do not know how you allow such conduct, Grand Mother.” The chancellor approached from her left, his long robes whispering over the floor.

“The man was injured, Belah.”

“Tradition must be observed. It keeps law and people in their place.”

She rounded on him, the ire of the day and her long standing discomfort of the bald and devious politician coming to the fore. “I rule here, Chancellor, not you.”

His eyes flickered at her, startlingly yellow in the dim light. “Yes, Grand Mother.”

-o-o-o-

TBC?


End file.
